Happy Birthday to me!!!

I've turned 29 years old and everyone I know is treating it like a suicide watch. As soon as the clock struck midnight, I start getting the phone calls from annoying relatives and friends but instead of a cheerful “Happy Birthday” it is “are you okay” or “it’s not the end of the world.” Just because I’m closer to death, doesn’t mean I’m ready to die bitches.

 

Every year on my birthday I stand naked in the mirror and do my birthday check and thank god. I check my dick to see if it has gotten bigger, thank god I have a cute face. I check my face for wrinkles, thank god for Botox. I check my ass to see if it’s still firm, thank god I ride dick at least once a week. I check my stomach to see if it’s still flat, thank god for laxatives. And finally I check my hair to see if it’s thinning, thank god that dark skinned black men look good bald.

Now that I’m a year older, closer to the inevitable, I tell myself it’s time for me to grow up and stop the drinking, partying into the morning, having sex just to have sex, get a relationship and don’t cheat, eat better, pay all my bills on time, do something good for man kind, learn to cook a full course meal, stop dressing like a street hustler/stripper and buy some real clothes, get a job, keep a job, stop quitting jobs, stop getting fired from jobs, call home more often, get health and dental insurance, give up that pipe dream of becoming a writer and get a real job with benefits, stop hustling, stop smoking weed, stop going to sex parties, delete my profiles from the internet sex sites, stop taking nude pictures of myself, go to church, get a religion, live right instead of wrong, stop calling relatives drunk at five o’clock in the morning, stop lying about my age, get a real job, stop temping, go to the gym more, get a new liver, stop calling my ex for sex, get real furniture for my apartment, and start living like an adult. God that sounds like a boring life.

All I want for my birthday is for everyone younger than me to die. Nothing personal. Funny, I now have sympathy for the evil step mother in "Snow White." She was just misunderstood. She wasn’t ready to give up the baddest bitch crown because getting older, is having to keep proving yourself and waistline. Just look at that popular show the “Desperate Housewives.” Those old bitches still look good because they killed off snow white and fed on her blood.

 

I like it when I tell older men my age and they say “you’re still a baby.” Well, of course I’m still a baby if you’re like sixty-five years old. The real secret to youth is to surround yourself with geriatrics, even if you’re like forty years old, you always look better in comparison.

My best friend, when it was time for her birthday she would go into a fanatical rampage asking everyone "how old" did they think she looked. It usually backfired, people guessed anywhere from four to fifteen years older. She would cry for days. I don’t ask people how old I look. I tell them how old I want them to think I look. I was with this guy, he asked my age, I told him twenty-five years old. He looked at me crazy, and I replied, “Motherfucker I said twenty-five, it ain’t up for discussion.”

Well Happy birthday to me! I may be another year older, but I still got a really fat ass.